


cherry coke and rum

by despitethewives (choirboyharem)



Category: Video Blogging RPF
Genre: Infidelity, M/M, Rape/Non-con Elements, Somnophilia, Unrequited Love
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-16
Updated: 2020-01-16
Packaged: 2021-02-27 05:27:42
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,750
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22251823
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/choirboyharem/pseuds/despitethewives
Summary: “I feel like—listen, dude, you remember—“ Danny had cut himself off with a giggle, leaning against Drew, warm and solid and too familiar and bait-y and perfect and just absolutely, heartbreakinglyeverythingthat Drew could ever want right in that very second. “—I told you about, like, the Camp Unplug story a couple times, how I got really fucking drunk, themostdrunk, but, okay, listen to me. I feel really drunk. Right now, I think I’m seriously fucked up.”And Drew hadn’t known what to say, because his dick was trying to talk for him and it was deafening. “Yeah, uh, no offense, but you look seriously fucked up.”
Relationships: Danny Gonzalez/Drew Gooden
Comments: 7
Kudos: 77





	cherry coke and rum

**Author's Note:**

> i’m begging you not to read this, but if you do, don’t say i didn’t warn you. a little generic prior context to this: this is set anywhere after the watdp tour, amanda is out of state with friends, and drew is visiting danny just cuz. you know the rules, don't show this to them, etc.
> 
> i have a longer fic in the works of them in an equally angsty au, but it's been getting frustrating lately, so i kind of just wrote this in the meantime. and, uh. here it is i guess

Drew was terrified to even put a hand on Danny’s leg, let alone touch any other part of him. His fingers hovered. His breathing was shallow. 

He swallowed down enough of his anxiety long enough to push his fingers between Danny’s thighs, lift one of them up, and pull it to the side. 

Danny laid on his back, entangled, dead to the world and utterly boneless. Drew could still feel the memory of Danny clutching at him after almost falling over an hour ago, flushed and nearly hysterical with laughter, bright and dopey. 

“I feel like—listen, dude, you remember—“ He’d cut himself off with a giggle, leaning against Drew, warm and solid and too familiar and bait-y and perfect and just absolutely, heartbreakingly _everything_ that Drew could ever want right in that very second. “—I told you about, like, the Camp Unplug story a couple times, how I got really fucking drunk, the _most_ drunk, but, okay, listen to me. I feel really drunk. Right now, I think I’m seriously fucked up.” 

And Drew hadn’t known what to say, because his dick was trying to talk for him and it was deafening. “Yeah, uh, no offense, but you look seriously fucked up.”

“I am.”

“You are. You should go to bed.”

“Should I?”

“Yes.”

And Drew, being the fantastic friend that he was, was using his own advice against Danny. He could feel the preemptive guilt burn deep in his stomach, curling his guts like he’d eaten something he shouldn’t have. He was hunched over in the dark over Danny’s incapacitated body, sitting on his and Laura’s tangled bedsheets. 

The question crossed Drew’s mind that was it worse to do this in Danny and Laura’s bed, or Amanda’s and his own? It made him instantly sick to his stomach, so he put it out of his head like he was slamming a door shut on it. 

Drew felt gummy and wet and slick all at once in his fuzzy, stuck mouth, his hands trembling. He bit down hard on his lip, looking at Danny’s boxers. Everything had a soft, pale, dim, orange glow from the bedside table lamp, making things look a thousand times romantic than they really were. 

Nothing about this was. It was creepy and pathetic and desperate, Drew told himself firmly, hammering the self-hatred in like nails in his brain even as he did nothing to stop himself. It was okay. It was okay because he hated himself. His eyes flicked up to Danny’s face, then back to his crotch. 

Revulsion blanketing him, Drew reached down to run his fingers over the length of Danny’s cock through silky fabric. Danny didn’t move an inch, but Drew still held his breath and felt his heart pound somewhere near his tonsils as he stroked his palm over Danny. He felt a weird, unnatural, sick kind of horny, something he couldn’t remember having felt before. At least not in this specific way. Looking up porn on the chunky, barely-functional family computer after his parents went to bed back in middle school had nothing on this, but it was kind of a similar feeling. It was within the same vein. That enthralling, breathless guilt that, in retrospect, was absurd to the point of shameful. 

Drew splayed his free hand apart next to the pillow, keeping himself balanced as he bent down. His shivering breath mingled with Danny’s, cutting into the slow, even rhythm of it. Danny smelled sticky-sweet, heavy and thick and indulgent from cherry Coke and rum. And his lips tasted like it, too. 

They’d kissed once before. While they were filming the fanfiction video, they were reading through the shitty, awful sex scene that had happened after the suicide attempt and Drew, entirely as a joke and without bothering to think about it first, had thrown his arms around Danny’s neck and given him a sloppy, clumsy kiss before pulling away with a smacking noise. Danny had looked more confused and embarrassed than anything else, laughing to cover it up and wiping his mouth with his hand. 

“We’re cutting that, right?” Danny had asked, flushed practically neon pink. “I mean, I’m probably gonna have to cut down this whole fuckin’ scene anyway, it’s, like, it’s so unnecessary, but—“ 

“Yeah. Yeah, I mean, like, obviously. Sorry.”

“No, don’t, don’t even, it’s okay. I don’t care. So, uh, fuck, where were we? Did somebody come yet?” 

Danny’s lips were still as soft now as they were then. Drew felt almost starved as he kissed him, pushing his tongue inside Danny’s parted mouth. It was pliable and hot and wet. Briefly forgetting how insane this was, Drew ached down to his bones thinking about slipping perfectly between Danny’s legs and being accepted by him, Danny licking his mouth and hooking his leg up over Drew’s waist. Danny grinding against him like they were in ninth grade, hard and leaking underneath him, begging for some kind of relief. Saying the most cliché shit imaginable just because there was nothing else to say. 

“I know this is, like—this is really, really wrong, this is fucked up, but—Jesus.” Drew could see Danny looking up at him with dark, needy eyes, pupils wide and nearly obscuring the blue, lips reddened. “Fuck, will you let me blow you?”

And Drew fucking would. Of course he would. How could he say no to that? He broke the kiss, short of breath, already reaching for his jeans. He’d let Danny do anything he wanted. Almost like Drew was in love with him or something. 

It was almost like Drew was drowning in himself and his own unwanted feelings. Almost like Danny was the most unattainable, most taboo concept in the world, wrapped in a big pink ribbon with a big, stupid tag that said _“Too little too late, idiot. You should’ve opened me on Christmas years ago. You know, when the two of you were on opposite sides of the country in high school, before Danny was dating the girl of his dreams.”_

Drew could imagine some alt-pop song playing in the background, maybe. As if he weren’t hunching and beastial between Danny’s legs, his spidery fingers shoving his jeans away and pulling his underwear down over his dick. Some music that Danny would like. Something like Jon Bellion or The 1975. _We’ve got one thing in common, it’s this tongue of mine and it’s running along the length of your cock and dipping into the slit like I’ve done this to other guys before._ He wanted to see Danny’s eyes glitter as he worked his throat over the cock in his mouth, swallowing easily. He wanted to slide his fingers into Danny’s hair, crush styling gel between his fingers and leave all the dark curls in his hand in an errant mess while Matty Healy jacked himself off over his own basic political awareness in the background. 

Danny’s hair was already in disarray when Drew touched him now. His fingers tightened as he pressed the head of his cock against Danny’s parted lips. The slick head leaked onto Danny’s teeth as Drew pushed his thumb into Danny’s mouth, opening it up further. Risky. Risky, risky, risky, risky. He was mentally hyperventilating. Carefully, tenderly, Drew gripped the headboard in one hand, Danny’s hair in the other, edging his hips forward until Danny’s slack mouth enveloped his cock. 

Drew knew he had to move shallowly. If he choked Danny out, committing manslaughter through one-sided oral sex, it would be the kind of very rare case where the only solution to the fallout was suicide. He had to be gentle. Courteous, really. And it was borderline impossible. Drew shook and clutched at his mouth, suffocating his gasp, his other hand wrapped around Danny’s hair. It was difficult to work through the levels of pleasure and fear and self-loathing and instinctual desire to use a hole he wanted to fuck. It was scary, utterly terrifying, actually, how easy it was to be suddenly consumed by just the idea of getting to come in something other than your own hand. Anything and anyone could be dehumanized when you felt horny and immoral enough. 

And, in turn, Danny had been dehumanized. Drew stared down at him with a twisted, frightened expression even while fucking into the wet heat of his mouth. Danny, Danny who finished his sentences for him better than he, himself could, Danny who had the funniest, sweetest, most entertaining, wheezy high-pitched laugh, Danny who had stayed up with him on the phone late into the night countless times, Danny who had given Drew the biggest, brightest, most dazzling, and most affectionate smile in the hotel lobby after the very last date of the tour and had said, “I think I’m always gonna want you like this. This close. Not always doing this, but, y’know. Something like this. Forever.” 

Drew felt his throat close up. The corners of his eyes stung. 

It took him too long before he pulled his dick out of Danny’s mouth again, his hand loosening from the dark curls hugging his fingers. Drew fell onto the mattress beside Danny and his candy-coated, spit-and-precum-slick mouth. Turning onto his side, his back against Danny’s arm, Drew spat on his palm and fisted his cock to finish himself off. He couldn’t do it. He hadn’t been able to fucking follow through with it. 

When he came, choking back the Lord’s name in vain, it was unsatisfying. He twitched and panted, his shirt and the bedsheet glistening with spunk. 

Drew had done it before, borrowing Danny’s clothes, almost always without asking, but it seemed so unfair doing it now. After tossing his old shirt, he grabbed something of Danny’s off the floor. It was striped with yellow and white and it was too big for him, because Danny was taller and broader. And it was broken in, worn and soft and smelling like its owner. 

Drew had the pretentious, overindulgent idea that his own heart would smell the same way—if hearts could smell like anything but blood. He buttoned his jeans back up and avoided the mess he’d made, curling up at Danny’s side. 

Danny mumbled something in his sleep and Drew felt the bed jostle before an arm draped itself around his waist. Danny’s nose tucked into the back of Drew’s neck and Drew felt that same steady breathing on his skin. 

Drew was in bliss and he had never felt physically worse in his entire life. 


End file.
